A/N: I'm exhausted, but here's the final chapter. I got an idea for Part Three (I was eating when it came to me, just thought you might like to know), so I'll try to give you the last part of the trilogy ASAP. As always, thanks for your support.

The touch of Cleo's warm, soft skin sent sparks up my spine. I was holding her in my arms on my cot, recovering from the events of the past couple of days. She looked up at me with her pure, sky-blue eyes and kissed me softly on the lips. My skin crackled with electricity—the good kind. I held her tighter, wanting to be like this forever, in perfect harmony.

She snuggled her head against my chest and sighed. "What's wrong, Cleo?" I asked.

"Well . . ." she hesitated. I waited. "You—you said that you had amnesia, at least for a little while and . . ." she paused.

"Yes?" I urged her.

"And you forgot about me?"

Sadness weighed down on me. "Yeah, but one of the first memories I recovered was of you."

This seemed to satisfy her. She closed her eyes and sighed again, but this time it was a sigh of contentment. I buried my face in her hair. Hmm. Lavender. Such a sweet smell—perfect for Cleo.

I whispered the words that I had wanted to say for so long in her ear, "I love you."

She looked deep into my eyes and repeated the words that I just said; this time with such a smile on her face that it made me wonder if it really was hate that drove me to do all the things that I did today.

Unease fluttered in my heart. Yes, it was hate. No matter how much I loved Cleo, it would always be hate that drove me to fight.

Some people are pushed to do things because they want to please others. Some people do things because of love or respect or out of promises. I am not one of these people.

I am sorry to say that I am pushed on by revenge, bitterness, and hate. I seek revenge for the deaths of so many. I am bitter because of the nagging sensation inside me that says we'll never be able to beat these aliens, even with the secret weapons I acquired. I hate what the skitters did to me.

I love Cleo with all my heart, but the matter remains that love is simply not enough to incite the burning need to kill all skitter, mechs, and Overlords. I care for my dad and my brothers. I respect Captain Weaver. But it's not enough.

Some may say that I have an evil soul or no trace of a soul at all, because I am so inspired by my hate. Maybe I don't have a soul. Maybe they're right. I can't say that I care so much about an afterlife anymore. I'll welcome death, in fact, if it means that the aliens will all suffer for what they did and are still doing.

When they are gone, my purpose will be served.

I would be sad to leave Cleo, but even though her love means everything to me, I would not sacrifice the lives of millions to be with her. It sounds, harsh, I know, but remember—I am not driven by love.

I am driven by the things I would do for hate.